


i've got the strangest feeling this isn't our first time around

by amessofgaywords



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, brief appearances from the squip squad, brooke remembers all of her past lives au, mentions of boyf riends, this is a blatant excuse for me to be a history nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amessofgaywords/pseuds/amessofgaywords
Summary: Brooke has literally lived a million lifetimes. She remembers all of them. In stunning clarity. Chloe’s lived a million too, but she doesn’t remember a single one.or how brooke finds chloe, over and over again.
Relationships: Brooke Lohst/Chloe Valentine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	i've got the strangest feeling this isn't our first time around

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not a hundred percent sure how we get here, but... pinkberry past lives au? pinkberry past lives au.
> 
> title from past lives (haha, appropriate) by børns.

**_Metuchen, New Jersey. 2018 AD._ **

Brooke has to honk the horn four times before Chloe finally opens the front door and trudges up to the car.

“Morning!” Brooke tries to be cheerful, but Chloe’s having none of it. There are bags under her eyes that, despite her best attempts, her makeup isn’t covering all that well, and her hair is a little limp so she must not have washed it. As she slides into the passenger seat, she groans and leans her head against the car door. “Um, how much did you drink last night?”

“Too much.” Chloe gestures vaguely with her left hand, cause her right is massaging her neck. “Just drive, mmkay?”

“New rule: no Dustin Kropp parties on weeknights.” Brooke drinks La Croix with one hand while she drives with the other. Chloe doesn’t respond, and Brooke assumes she’s half-sleeping. A glance over at a red light confirms it, the sun highlighting the tangles in Chloe’s barely controlled bedhead and the crease of her pillow still imprinted a little bit in her cheek. Chloe’s not normally the messy one like this, that’s usually Brooke, but when she gets really drunk she forgets to do her skincare routine and regrets it for days afterwards. And they made the bad decision of going to one of Dustin’s parties last night even though they’re full of too much weed and grinding teenagers. Brooke doesn’t like Dustin’s parties, cause they remind her of better times but worse.

She drives past Dunkin’ and gets a large iced coffee to go and a hot tea. Chloe will down the coffee before first period for the caffeine boost and come begging for something warm by third period English, since it’s January and cold and Chloe never dresses appropriately for the weather. Brooke’s done this before.

Chloe’s just barely conscious by the time they pull into the school parking lot. She accepts the iced coffee groggily and slurps at it while Brooke filters through radio stations, killing time until the first bell. Once Chloe’s blinked her mascara back into place and swallowed enough stimulant to get her senses working, she pokes Brooke in the shoulder to tell her she’s ready to go. Brooke gets out and locks the car and meets Chloe by the back entrance to the building.

Chloe swings an arm around Brooke’s shoulders and pulls her close, drinking her iced coffee with one hand. “Love you, Brookie,” she says, smushing her cheek into Brooke’s hair.

“Love you too, Chlo.” Except Chloe will never know just how much. 

\---

It’s not like Brooke set out to lie to Chloe or to keep things from her. It doesn’t always happen this way. Sometimes Brooke is honest from the beginning, a little more forthright with her feelings, and sometimes Chloe is a little more amenable too. But centuries go by and Chloe is always Chloe and this time around, Brooke just doesn’t know how to bring it up.

Cause the thing is. Brooke and Chloe are in love. And they’ve been in love forever. About a million lifetimes. At Brooke’s count, this is the ninth. Or maybe the hundred and ninth. After a while it gets hard to keep track. And no, this isn’t a metaphor and no, she’s not talking about ooey-gooey soulmates destined in the stars or whatever, they’re not Romeo and Juliet (except it was actually Romeo and Julian, Brooke remembers, but Willy had to change it to make it more palatable for the common folk, Brooke always disagreed, she’s getting sidetracked).

Brooke has literally lived a million lifetimes. She remembers all of them. In stunning clarity. Chloe’s lived a million too, but she doesn’t remember a single one.

\---

**_Island of Phleves, modern day Greece. 490 BC._ **

“Where were you this morning?” Brooke surprised Chloe from behind the olive trees. A row of them blocked off the low stone wall from the path, and it’s there Brooke chose to wait for Chloe to walk by. (Of course, they weren’t Brooke and Chloe back then, but they’ve sort of always been, so for simplicity’s sake.)

Chloe stumbled back, glancing through the green leaves to find Brooke’s petite frame, sitting on the wall and swinging her sandaled feet back and forth. She chuckled. “How long have you been waiting there for me?”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Brooke hopped to the ground and pushed forward through the trees, coming to a stop in front of Chloe and staring up into her face. Chloe was too tall for her own good. It meant she might marry well, with all her curves and such, but it also meant Brooke was staring at the wrap of her dress whenever they were in front of each other.

Chloe sighed and reached a hand forward, brushing a leaf off of Brooke’s bare shoulder. It sent shivers down her spine. “I was finishing up the weaving with Mother. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“I guess.” Brooke scuffed one of her sandals along the dirt path, not able to meet Chloe’s eyes. She’d been waiting by the docks for _hours,_ and Chloe’s not _that_ into her weaving. She was certain she was going to run off with Jake, and Brooke would be left all alone. Again.

“Oh, don’t be that way, _i kardiá mou._ ” Chloe took Brooke’s hand. Her skin was warm from the sun and soft, the soft hands of the aristocracy. Chloe’s father wasn’t a farmer, he was an _academic,_ which meant Chloe got to know more things than Brooke did because Chloe’s father didn’t have any sons. Brooke’s father wasn’t an anything, he was just broken. The war did that to him. It killed her brothers and broke everything else, and Brooke got away unscathed because when the worst of the fighting reached them, Chloe’s family allowed her to stay on their estate.

Sure, it was war, but sometimes Brooke still dreamed about those nights in Chloe’s room, laying on the floor and feeling the breeze through the windows, hearing the clang of swords on shields below, running patterns up and down Chloe’s smooth, soft, unscarred skin with her fingertips. It was probably the fault of the wine Chloe had them drinking, but those nights were painted with a soft, gentle, purple and red, and Brooke missed them even if.

“You’re drifting away again.” Chloe rolled her eyes, tugging on Brooke’s arm with their joined hands. “Come on, slowpoke. We’ll go back to the docks and you can tell me where all the ships are going.”

“I don’t know where the ships are going,” Brooke tried to tell her, but Chloe was having none of it.

The path that wound around Chloe’s family’s estate passed the sea, blue and sparkling and outlined with dark, wet rocks that would hurt if you fell on them, Brooke thought. This path led into the town, small buildings and dirt roads and lots of men rattled by war. It had been a year and they were still rebuilding in places. Past the marketplace and the fields where the men held their weird fighting competitions, the docks stuck out into the water, and from them ships came and went to see places other than _this,_ the piece of world Brooke had known her whole life. She’d wanted to be on one of those ships forever. It wasn’t really a lifelike dream, but she would dream it anyway.

It wasn’t that Chloe likes the docks, it was that she didn’t have anything else to do with her day and Brooke was more than happy to entertain her by telling her made up stories of heroes and gods and witches and talking bears with three heads, which was one of Chloe’s favorites, about the archer who adopted the talking bear with three heads and rescued a bunch of mermaids from an evil minotaur. Chloe would spend afternoons eating grapes and cheese and sitting next to Brooke with her feet in the warm water, listening to her talk.

Sometimes, Brooke thought she caught Chloe staring at her lips from the corner of her eye, but she could never be sure.

Today, Chloe brought them to the low sea wall just above the docks, partially blocked by a willow tree, warm in the sun and out of sight of the sailors and crew disembarking from the largest ship either of them had ever seen.

“Where do you think they’re coming from?” Brooke asked. Chloe shook her head, narrowing her eyebrows and chewing on her lip.

“I wouldn’t know. Do you recognize the colors?”

The flag didn’t look like anything Brooke had ever seen. Then again, she hadn’t seen much. If Chloe didn’t recognize it, it probably didn’t mean anything terribly important, at least she hoped. The men walking down the from the ships interior were clad in thick armor and heavy shields. They seemed young, like freshly trained soldiers. But the war was over.

“They must be the last of the soldiers from Athens. Sailing under a different house, maybe,” Chloe concluded. Brooke went along with what she said. Chloe knew best.

There wasn’t more than a cloud in the sky, and the sun on Brooke’s bare feet burned. She tugged on the ends of her _chlamýs,_ trying to get it to cover her ankles. Chloe’s flowed perfectly over her legs and down to her sandaled feet, as smooth as her hands. Brooke picked up a stone in the grass at their feet and rolled it around in her palm, the texture even and the surface warmed in the sunlight. She snuck glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m bored,” Chloe whined after a time. “Let’s go find something to eat, and then we’ll take a walk past the _ecclesia,_ and see if they’re talking about anything important.”

Brooke liked to stay and watch the ships, but the waters were even and she couldn’t see much on the horizon, so there probably wasn’t a huge point to it. She gestured below, where the disembarked soldiers lay in the grass, their armor strewn about for cleaning, chatting amicably and dousing each other with water from the sea. This seemed exactly like Chloe’s avenue. “You don’t want to stay and watch?”

Chloe stood and brushed off her _chlamýs,_ removing invisible stone grit. She extended a hand to Brooke without much more than a glance back at the ship. “I think I’ll be fine. Coming?”

Brooke took her hand and followed.

\---

Most people use the underside of the bleachers by the football field for smoking or hooking up, but during third period study hall it’s empty back here. Brooke is crouched among cigarette butts and empty soda cans, trying to do her Pre-Calc homework. She’s not good with all these weird formulas, though. Chloe’s reading for English across from her, splayed out on her back with her legs crossed over each other. So Brooke is really just distracted by Chloe’s calves and the way she chews on her lip. 

“Brooke, you’re staring at me,” Chloe says under her breath, flicking a page with the tips of her fingers like it insulted her. Brooke swallows.

“How’s The Catcher In The Rye?” she asks, twirling her pencil in her fingers and scooting closer in the dirt and patchy grass.

Chloe sighs and props herself up on her forearms. “Irreverent.” She furrows her brow at Brooke with that _look,_ the confusion look. Brooke stares at her blankly. “Is that math homework?”

“Do you know how to do difference quotient formulas?” Brooke asks, passing the notebook to Chloe. She grabs it and pats the ground next to her, summoning Brooke to lay down. So Brooke does, pillowing her head on Chloe’s outstretched arm and tucking in to see the notebook.

“Okay, so you’re forgetting to substitute the (x + h) variable after the two,” Chloe points out, reaching out a hand for Brooke’s pencil. She gives it to her. Chloe smudges out Brooke’s halfhearted equation with the eraser and scribbles in the right expression in that characteristic messy-neat handwriting and the curvy twos. “Here. Just cancel out the inverse terms and divide by h.”

Brooke does so. Once Chloe corrects her factoring mistakes again.

“How do you know so much about math?” Brooke groans, grinding the base of her palm into her eyes and trying to knock away the headache math gives her. Chloe snorts.

“Do SAT review books from the summer before eighth grade ring a bell?” Brooke laughs, and Chloe laughs too, reaching down and smacking at Brooke’s hand until she takes it and Chloe intertwines their fingers. Brooke smiles softly at her, and Chloe smiles back.

Maybe once upon a time Chloe was a mathematician or something. Brooke can’t remember all of the times that well.

\---

Cause they’re really done this a lot. It’s never exactly the same. Once, they lived next door to each other. Once, they were born on different continents. Every time, Brooke finds her way to Chloe and falls in love with her, countless girls with perfect caramel hair and sparkly green eyes who aren’t afraid of anything. Sometimes Brooke has to say it first, but most of the time it’s Chloe. Walking up and kissing her out of the blue. Or holding her hand in a dark place and feeling her squeeze. 

It’s the one thing Brooke has to look forward to. When she dies, all the time when she dies, it’s like a little silver-haired lining. _I’m gonna get to see her again._ Cause they don’t always last for the same amount of time. And it takes a lot of good luck for everything to go _right._

Endless memories and lives and Brooke hasn’t changed much. She’s still a little weird and a little wobbly. She never exactly fits. She dresses like a hippie witch with a circulation problem and most of the stuff she says is unsettling. That’s what other people say about her. Chloe doesn’t say stuff like that, except. Chloe smiles and laughs, not in a mean way. Endless memories and lives and Brooke still has to ask if she wants to come over to Chloe’s house for a sleepover.

\---

**_Modern day Essex, England. 1321 AD._ **

Chloe’s family may have been rich enough to have land and men and fancy cotton sheets but they weren’t quite rich enough to have glass in all the windows. Chloe used heavy rocks to hang up one of the blankets from her bed so that the rain wouldn’t come in through the gaps in the wooden shutters. Brooke could hear the droplets soaking it now, watched a damp spot steadily grow in the center. The thin covering shuddered with each loud crash of thunder.

Chloe snapped her fingers twice and called Brooke’s attention back to the game. “It’s your turn.”

They were playing chess. It was the first time Brooke had played and only the second or third for Chloe. She had received a wooden and ivory chess set for her birthday, immaculately carved and far more expensive than anything Brooke would own in her whole life. Brooke guessed it had emptied Chloe’s father’s coffers for the time being, but it was probably worth it to see her smile. Chloe had been pouty and bitter ever since her mother died. Brooke would know, she’d been following her around since then too.

Brooke chewed on her tongue and leaned forward, picking up a piece that looked like a horse and moving it forward a space. Chloe rolled her eyes.

“No, that’s not how you do it. The knight moves in shape, see? Like an L.” Brooke couldn’t read, so she didn’t know what Chloe was talking about, but she followed the movement of her fingers with her eyes and tried to commit it to memory. Chloe moved her piece back. “Try again.” Brooke picked up the horse and moved it a space to the left and two spaces up. Chloe nodded in acceptance, and promptly captured the horse with the piece that looked like a castle.

“I’m winning, you should really just give up now,” Chloe said smugly, sitting back. They were on the floor, which Chloe usually abhorred because it got her dresses dirty, but it was better than being on the bed without the blankets, and this way the candles could be much closer by. Brooke laid on her back dramatically, throwing her arms out to the sides.

“I do. I’m bored.”

“I could read to you.” Chloe had learned to read from a traveling priest recently and very much enjoyed exercising these skills.

“Or we could just talk.” Brooke sighed. “Like about-”

“Like about the miller’s son?” Chloe pepped up. Brooke stayed quiet. Chloe could talk about the miller’s son for hours. She didn’t say anything else, though.

“Maybe about what else is out there.” Brooke waved an errant hand. “Do you believe there’s people in the sky?”

“You mean like God?” Chloe asked. She crawled closer so she could sit near Brooke’s head and placed a warm, dry hand on her forehead. It felt nice despite its absurdity. “I suppose so. But there’s only one god, so there must only be one person.”

Brooke shrugged. “I don’t mean like God. I mean, people. People in the sky. Watching us. Maybe they’re in the stars. Maybe they _are_ the stars.”

“You think stars are people?” Chloe sounded like she might call for her father to have Brooke strung up and whipped. It was a thing. It had happened to Little Tom a few days back, because he didn’t say his prayers right and he played with sticks in the woods. Brooke didn’t want it to happen to her, and she knew Chloe wouldn’t let it. She was just teasing a little. Brooke shrugged again. “You’re so odd.”

“I know.” Brooke was hungry, but she wasn’t going to ask for food. That felt strange. And she knew Chloe hadn’t eaten yet either. “Okay. Teach me how to play one more time.”

“I’m tired.” Chloe stood and brushed off the front of her nightgown, sending dirt to the floor. She waved Brooke up. “Sleep with me? We’ll keep warm, but we have to put the candles out or Father will kill me.”

Brooke stood up and blew out the candle. It took her eyes a second to adjust. She caught the green of Chloe’s irises first. She followed her to the bed, burrowed up under the blankets that weren’t being used to block out the rain. Chloe flinched with the thunder so Brooke held her hand.

“I think it would be nice if there were people in the stars,” Chloe whispered into the darkness. Brooke leaned close to her mouth to hear her, and her lips brushed Chloe’s arm underneath her nightgown. Slight goosebumps made it feel prickly. “I don’t know. It sounds romantic.”

“Kind of scary,” Brooke offered. She couldn’t remember whether or not there really were people in the stars, if she’d ever known that at one point. She thought maybe, but maybe not.

“Sometimes you sound like you came from the stars.”

“We all did.” Brooke knows this like she knows the scratchiness of the cotton on her back and the cold, wet feeling in the air. She knows Chloe doesn’t understand, at least not yet. But it is romantic, in a way.

“I’m tired,” Chloe repeats, a few minutes later she’s snoring. Brooke whispers the truth to darkness, but Chloe can’t hear her.

\---

Brooke carries a bowl of brownie batter over to the sink without dropping it (amazing) and fills it with water to soak. Behind her, she feels Chloe smack her butt with a towel.

“Chlo!” She turns around, glaring, and Chloe’s got that smug look on her face that she has whenever she’s pissing people off but she’s proud of it. She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“What? You’re cute.” Brooke can barely see Chloe’s face go red before she turns back around to put the now dry spatula away. They’re cleaning up while the brownies bake. Well, Brooke is cleaning up. Chloe is playing around with the towel and sometimes drying dishes.

“How was your date with Jake?” Brooke asks. She used to get jealous about Jake. She doesn’t any more. It’s only a matter of time, and Jake usually ends up making out with Rich under the bleachers and dumping Chloe anyway, so. Sometimes Chloe’s sexy puppy dog routine as she chases after him is even kind of funny.

Chloe leans back against the counter and waits for Brooke to finish washing the bowl. “Eh. He was on his phone the whole time, _boring._ Am I not entertaining enough for you, Jacob?” She sighs, rubbing at her temples. “Whatever. I don’t think he even likes me all that much, you know, like that. We’re still friends and whatever, but he doesn’t want to have sex with me, so.”

“How do you know?” Brooke asks, rinsing out the bowl a final time and handing it back for Chloe to dry. She blows a stray piece of blonde hair out of her eyes. Chloe stares at her for a second.

“I don’t know. I’m guessing. I know guys, Brookie.” She barely swipes at the bowl before putting it back in the cabinet. Absolving herself of drying duty, she hangs up the towel and sidles over to Brooke’s side, leaning on her elbows next to the sink while Brooke washes errant batter down the drain. When she turns, she comes to face to face (or face to chest, actually) with Chloe.

She looks up. Chloe’s staring at her in concentration. She seems focused. Brooke stares right back, mapping the curves in Chloe’s face and the freckle above her eyebrow for the three thousandth time. She’s memorized it by now.

Brooke glances down at her lips for a millisecond and notices it. It makes her smile. “Uh, Chlo? You’ve got brownie batter on your chin.”

Chloe rubs at the chocolate mark furiously, the moment broken. She looks back down at Brooke, the skin underneath her lips red raw and her eyes wide. “Did I get it?”

“Almost.” Brooke licks her thumb and reaches forward, rubbing the last of the stuff away. “Okay. I’m gonna get a soda from the garage.” And she leaves and she doesn’t need to stay to know Chloe’s all spluttery and red. Brooke knows the way she ticks. It’s one of the things she prides herself on.

\---

**_Florence, Italy. 1623 AD._ **

“What are you working on today?” Brooke asked the question as she entered the attic studio because she knew it would startle Chloe, but she did it when Chloe was mixing paint so she wouldn’t ruin her painting, because if Chloe messed up one delicate stroke of a bristle she’d be angry, and Brooke didn’t want that.

Chloe did startle, and a little bit of red mixed into her white. It made a color like a blush, and she shrugged, taking the new shade and adding definition to the roses in the foreground of the canvas. It made the roses look sweeter. Chloe had an eye for color.

“A portrait of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood.” Chloe stepped back from the canvas, her thin skirt swishing with the movement. It made Brooke wish she could shuck her heavy corset for one of Chloe’s work frocks, paint stained as they may be.

Brooke sat, balancing herself on the edge of a rickety wooden stool. “What are you calling it?”

“Portrait of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood.”

“Ah.” The attic was darker today because of the clouds. It was raining all the night before and it continued into the morning, the sky dark and dreary. It made Brooke think of sad things, but here was Chloe, painting a picture of a girl in a sunny garden like nothing was the matter. 

One of the most disconcerting things about Chloe was her ability to read people from across the room. “What’s the matter,” she sighed, adding a bit of depth to the trellis in the background of the painting. Brooke watched the way her hands moved and it took her a moment to answer.

“Jacob and Lucia are betrothed.” Brooke couldn’t care less whether or not Jacob Francis Sardinia and Lucia Cappelletti got married, but Jacob had been courting Chloe since they were babies and Brooke knew the news would sting.

Or at least she thought it would, since Chloe merely set her palette down and went to the shelf for more paint. “And?”

“They’re going to be married.”

Chloe sighed. “ _Il mio fiore,_ it doesn’t matter that much. Jacob was only going to entertain me for so long anyways. He was a useless flirt. Lucia will have much to deal with.” Chloe stood next to Brooke and stared across the room at her canvas, examining its colors and shadows from a distance. She took a hunk of bread that Brooke had brought and bit off the end, chewing noisily.

“Jacob will be a doctor one day, or a merchant. He’ll probably bring in lots of money.” Why Brooke would be trying to convince Chloe to pursue Jacob, well, she had no idea. After all, Chloe to herself, all of Florence laid out for them like their very own kingdom, that’s all Brooke really wanted. That and some money, to buy a ship and sail somewhere they wouldn’t have to worry about things like betrothals. That would be nice.

Chloe glanced at Brooke with a pensive face. “I’ll get plenty of money from this painting, and the next and the next. I hardly need _Jacob Francis_ to earn it for me.” She moved back towards the painting and reached for her brush.

“What are you selling this one under?” Brooke asked.

“Probably Marco Luciano. The same as the one in front of the church. It’s of a similar style, natural setting with a focus on a live subject, and it says _liberty_ to me. Marco Luciano likes liberty very much. He’s a secular man, I think. Deeply secular. He believes in freedom of thought.” Chloe rambled about art and alter egos for a few moments while she added a small black-winged bird to a tree on the horizon. “There. The bird balances it out. That should dry before I do a final coat.”

She turned around to Brooke and wiped her hands on the front of her dress. Her apron was hanging over a desk to the side, already covered in drying stains. Brooke shook her head. When Chloe was in her element, hygiene had usually left the building. She smiled at Brooke, her teeth showing. Her hair was down and curly and a bit frizzy in the foggy humidity of the attic. Summer afternoons, Brooke thought, even when rainy, would be the death of them.

“Let’s go down to the harbor,” she said suddenly. Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Yes. And see what’s being sold. Maybe you can get some ideas of what to paint next.”

Chloe took a rag and wiped the excess paint from her hands and forearms. “Let me clean myself, at least. I’ll put on a suitable dress and we can go for a walk.” She slipped into a closet barely taller than she was. Brooke heard the bang of her elbow on the wall and a muttered “ _merda._ ” She hid a giggle behind her hand.

“It might rain!” Chloe called from inside the closet. Brooke sighed, watching the closed wooden door fondly.

“We’ll survive.”

\---

“Brooke?”

“Hmm?”

“You were kind of flailing in your sleep. You good?” Chloe yawns and throws an arm around Brooke’s waist under the cotton sheets. Brooke centers herself in the twenty-first century again.

“I was… I was on a boat.”

“Mmkay. Go be on your boat in your head, you’re kicking me in the shins.” Brooke nods and tries to fall back asleep.

\---

**_Outside modern day Turks and Caicos, North Atlantic Sea. 1732 AD._ **

It might have been easier to get to sleep if there wasn’t so much rocking. Chloe liked it. She said it was comforting. It made Brooke feel sick on the best of nights.

The sunlight was just breaking through on the water, making everything sparkle. Around here, there was no blood and vomit and dirt in the water, just pristine blue as far as the eye could see. Chloe went farther than everyone else just because she knew Brooke liked the colors of the sea. Maybe she hated the rocking, but the view was to kill for.

Brooke stumbled off the messy cot and did her best to catch her balance on a nearby table. It almost worked before the door slammed open.

“You’re up. Good. We’re boarding in ten.” Chloe had abandoned her normal tricorne and ornate coat. Brooke traced the outline of her muscles through her thin shirt. Her arm was tensed, hand gripping the sword she had won off of a drunk captain in Port Royal. She’d won the boat much the same way, but she’d had to spend a few minutes alone with that one as _extra incentive._ Brooke had watched her clean out her mouth thoroughly afterward. She said his lips tasted like seawater.

“Boarding who?” Brooke asked through a yawn, grabbing her sword from where she must have kicked it under the cot. Chloe’s eyes were eager, as sparkling as the ocean beneath them. Unlike Brooke, her boots were steady on the ground. This was her element. Brandishing swords at useless men on boats, that is.

A shout from outside stole their attention. “Captain! Get out here!” Jeremy’s face, the picture of fear, leaned into the cabin. “We’ve got men on the ropes!”

Chloe kept Brooke’s eyes. “Landing?”

“Not yet, but soon, I think. They’ve got cannons on us too. Orders?”

Chloe bit her lip to hide her grin from Brooke’s sight. With her back still to Jeremy, she said “hold fire. Ready the anchor and call the first sword. We’re getting to them first.”

Jeremy knew better than to question it, even though Brooke could see the panic fill his eyes. “Yes sir!”

Brooke strapped her sword to her skirt and grabbed a tricorne. It was the big one with the feather. It made it hard to see, but whenever she wore it Chloe gave her the look of pure adoration. Kinda like she was doing right now. “We don’t have long. We should go,” Chloe said, low under the noise of screaming and swords clanging. She took a step forward and lifted the brim of Brooke’s hat. Her smile was softer than most things Brooke saw on her.

“Who are we boarding?” Brooke asked just as softly. Chloe’s eyes lit up, and she pulled on Brooke’s hand, making her trip in her possessiveness.

“British regulars.” She grinned and took off for the deck, dragging Brooke behind her.

Comparatively (as in, comparatively to just about every other ship Brooke had seen), the ship Chloe captained was small. It had captain’s quarters, a room that was meant to be an office but was actually just storage and where Brooke slept sometimes, a room below decks for the crew, a hallway-sized galley, and a few storage compartments. They had a cannon on each side and sails that might as well have been patched together, for how much they worked. No wonder its original owner had been willing to part with it in a bet.

But it was also home for the past two years and Chloe’s pride and joy. The _Riviera._ And maybe Brooke wasn’t a boat person but she had to admit, she was a beauty, if only because Chloe loved her so much. A beauty who was currently about to be boarded by British soldiers.

Brooke lingered by the door, watching as Chloe drew her blade and approached the edge of the ship. They were close enough to the British ship that Brooke could see in through the windows. It was larger, much larger. Maybe twice the size, and tall. But the deck was low, and a portion jutted out just enough to make for an easy entrance (or exit) point. Chloe used it as the former.

Jenna, the best swordsman of their crew, followed Chloe at a clip and was the first to jump on board the British ship. She had the first wave of crew down in two swipes. Rich followed her, with Chloe in the rear. There was the sound of slicing and Brooke turned away.

She was never exactly the best at swords. Or sailing. In fact, she was pretty sure Chloe only kept her around because she was her closest friend from childhood and she’d helped her run away at thirteen to live a life of piracy. After all, Brooke had left behind the jewels and riches of nobility for more suspicious practices, too. Brooke was the person who kept up the morale of the crew and kept observations during negotiations. During boardings or battle, it wasn’t uncommon for Brooke to hide below decks.

That’s where she was headed when she heard the three-toned whistle that could have only come from one person. Brooke squinted towards the bow of the British ship, and saw, in the distance, the shape of Chloe, kneeling on top of the wheel and waving. Brooke rolled her eyes. Chloe craved attention like a fish craved the sea.

Still a bit unsteady, Brooke made her way across the deck and climbed onto the neighboring ship. Jeremy had been wrong; no cannons had fired on them, and the errant red-coated soldier that had boarded the _Riviera_ had been taken care of. They must not have thought the _Riviera_ was worth it. Brooke tiptoed over fallen British men and came upon Chloe and Jenna at the bow, kneeled in front of a gagged, silver haired man. His eyes seemed simultaneously panicked and aroused. Brooke knew the feeling.

“Either we’re getting better at this, or the Crown is hiring more dimwits for the job,” Jenna grinned. She bound the captain’s hands tighter and hit him on the head with the butt of her sword. He fell, unconscious, to the deck. Rich tossed the anchor of the British ship down and disappeared below decks, looking for loot.

“Go help him,” Chloe gestured. Jenna saluted and ran off, and Chloe narrowed her focus on Brooke. “I wanted you to see me work up close.”

“Impressive.” Brooke’s long skirt was stained with a bit of seawater and blood. The hem of it brushed her leg and made her shiver. Or maybe that was the look Chloe was giving her. Brooke pulled out her sword and swung it around a few times. “You know, I could stab some people.”

The look that took over Chloe’s eyes was fond. “I’m sure you could.” She looked over Brooke’s head, where Rich had appeared lugging a sack and a sour expression. “Damn. We must have caught them on a return trip. We’ll backtrack and rest nearer to the coast.” Chloe muttered plans to herself as she wiped her sword off on a rag and dropped it on the ground. She stomped past Brooke and spun around, giving her one of those mischievous smiles. “Shall we swing back over?”

Brooke blanched. “Please no.” Chloe’s laughter was terrifyingly gleeful. “It won’t be fun, it’ll be horrible.”

“It’ll be fun.” Chloe grabbed Brooke’s hand and dragged her to the rigging. She swung a sure arm around Brooke’s waist, gripped her tight, and held onto the rope with the other. She gave Brooke barely a moment to adjust herself before she jumped, the force swinging them back towards the _Riviera._

In all fairness, the kiss Chloe planted distinctly to Brooke’s lips in midair was fairly distracting.

\---

They’re still the same. Brooke likes to eat and enjoys people watching more than actually talking to people. Chloe draws (or paints, if it’s the Renaissance) and is a master flirt. Chloe has shiny brown hair, Brooke’s is a wheaty blonde. Chloe’s always taller and Brooke’s always curvier. Brooke thinks it’s cool to call it a _soul transfer._ A transfer of their souls across planes, times and centuries. It’s still the same them. Just living in different places. With different names. (Brooke’s personal favorite was when she was Betty, back in the forties. And Chloe was Charlotte.)

They might be the only two in the world like this. After all, Brooke’s wondered about Jake plenty of times. Does he remember the island off the banks of Athens, the fog-laden moors and Italian sunsets, the deserts and beaches and endless circles of time. Jake always seems to crop up, in one way or another. But Brooke’s hinted a couple of times and Jake never seems to get it. So she’s probably alone in the whole remembering part.

Once, in Alaska, Chloe said that she remembered too. But Chloe was dying of typhoid fever, so she was probably delirious.

\---

**_Some miles outside of Dawson City, Yukon territory. 1882 AD._ **

“You’ll trade for better gloves next time we find an outpost or I’ll leave you by the side of road to get skinned with the seals, _ma petite viande._ ” Chloe was French-Canadian and had grown up around people who thought speaking French made her important. Brooke liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth but thought that a lot of the time she was probably being insulted. Like now.

“I told you we should have stopped for the night…” Brooke was half panting and half talking as they mounted the hill. There were lights that they could see from here, but they were lights that were far enough away to be heaven for all they knew. And they didn’t know much. They’d lost their map in the river two days back. Not that most maps of the territory were helpful around here anyway. Chloe coughed into her glove which was apparently not good enough.

“I’m taking you up on that.” She tugged on the hood of her coat, pulling it closer over her ears. Brooke braided her hair back while they were hiking, but Chloe had cut hers last year and it was still growing past her shoulders, so it required extra protection in the fiercer winds. Chloe coughed again and rubbed her forehead. She seemed redder than usual. “And we need medicine too. Or herbs or something, what was that woman telling us back in that village?”

“You mean the woman who said you would die in a few days?” Brooke came up next to Chloe and reached for her hand. Chloe gave her the one she wasn’t coughing into. They were both wearing gloves but Brooke knew Chloe was squeezing her hand anyway.

“That one. She said I was going to die?” Brooke sucked in the freezing air through her lips. She didn’t want to talk about this right now. She nodded. “Oh. Okay. Let’s keep going then. I should be warm if I’m going to die. And I should probably be kissing you while I do it too.”

Chloe had been like this since Brooke met her. Brooke went north with her father, since he didn’t have a son and he thought she’d make a good wage as a bar wench in outpost towns. Chloe came up north with her brother to do something other than sit pretty at her mother’s society parties, and then he died. Chloe was precocious and insatiable, and instead of becoming a bar wench Brooke started taking care of Chloe’s sled dogs, and when the last one of those died from the cold she stayed with her because Chloe kissed her with more passion than she’d ever seen out of anyone, and Chloe was also the best and most wonderful person Brooke knew. And her father hadn’t found gold anyway. Neither had Chloe, but that was beside the point.

It had been a year and a half since the expedition Chloe and Brooke were following found that cache of minerals that made them rich enough to buy new dogs and three months since the last dog, Pietro, died. Brooke and Chloe had been headed northwest since then, in a roundabout way from Whitehorse to Dawson City. A trek that normally took just over a month but was taking them more because it was a hell of a lot harder on foot. And then Chloe got sick.

They were still standing still on the hilltop staring at the lights. Chloe coughed again, hard, and made a soft moaning voice. Brooke reached out to catch her, but she wasn’t fast enough. Chloe landed in the snow.

This being the third time Chloe had fainted because of the fever since they set out, Brooke had somewhat of an idea of what to do. She took Chloe’s packs off her back and set them in the snow beside her. She rubbed her wrists to check for her pulse, which was faint but there. She put a rag under Chloe’s mouth for when she woke up coughing blood. She sat next to her and thought hard about how much she loved her like that was going to save them from the bad stuff, but she hoped it would, so.

Chloe woke up a few seconds later and coughed up blood like Brooke knew she would. She didn’t have enough strength to sit all the way up. “Momma?” She asked. Brooke rubbed her forehead.

“It’s me, hon. It’s just me.”

“Thank god,” Chloe said, and coughed again, pounding on the snow with a clenched fist. Almost dead and still quipping. Brooke sighed. Chloe could be so annoying. “Damn, I’m hot. Are you hot?”

“You’re on fire,” Brooke said. “It’s the fever. It’ll get better, lovely.”

“Right. Better.” Chloe coughed again. “I need to rest right now. Would you tell me a story, _ma petite viande?_ ” Brooke smiled a little bit. She was pretty sure, from knowing Chloe for four years, that Chloe didn’t want to hear a story so much as she didn’t want to think about how slow her heart was going. That made two of them.

“Once upon a time you were an Italian heiress and I was a baker’s daughter. You were the best painter in the whole world, and I was your favorite subject. We walked in the rain and loved it, and one of your best paintings was of our shoes, wet in the grass on your father’s estate, while we danced in the background.”

“That’s…” Chloe trailed off into a cough. “I think I remember that one.”

Brooke shook her head. This time around, she’d told Chloe, somewhere between the Frances Lake and the Ross River, all about them and the past and all the thems there had been. Chloe had told her she’d heard less believable things. And any time things got rough since then, Chloe had asked for a story about them. Brooke gave her one every time without fail. Chloe always told her she had good stories.

“You don’t,” Brooke told her, because she never did. “You’re sick, sweetie.”

“No, I do. I was… there was a boy, wasn’t there? Who I thought would marry me but he married someone else. Right?”

“Jacob,” Brooke said, chewing on her lip. Chloe was… she didn’t know what Chloe was, but she was breathing harder and her pulse was faint through Brooke’s glove. She had to believe that was the glove’s fault. Right.

“Jacob. Yeah. I think he was like… I think he was like that Jacob, that one from Whitehorse who went off to look for more gold, right? That guy. I liked him. Not more than you, though, _ma… ma petite._ ” Everyone of Chloe’s words was a struggle. “I’m gonna sleep, mmkay?”

“Okay.” Brooke didn’t know what kind of sleep Chloe was talking about. “I love you. Always have, always will.” She’d taken to saying it a lot.

“Me too. I remember you always having. Always will too.” Chloe’s slurred mumbles trailed off as she closed her eyes. Brooke sighed and kept a hand on her wrist. Chloe’s pulse stayed faint, but it was there.

With as much strength as she could muster, she pulled Chloe up onto their meager sled and started dragging her down the hill. By the time they reached the lights, Chloe wasn’t breathing. By the time Brooke got warm again, Chloe’s pulse was totally gone. Brooke kissed her stupid, cold forehead and watched for any pink in the northern lights that night. Unsurprisingly, it flashed right over her head.

\---

Brooke opens the front door to Chloe. She’s holding a Sephora shopping bag. Actually, two Sephora shopping bags, the paper kind with the ribbon handles, and a Victoria’s Secret bag and an American Eagle bag too. Also a takeout bag from Olive Garden. She sets most of the stuff down on the front step and shoves the American Eagle bag in Brooke’s direction. “Look inside.”

“Hi?” Brooke questions. “What are you doing here?” It’s late afternoon, maybe five, and a Thursday too. Inside the American Eagle bag is a soft looking cashmere sweater and a couple cute t-shirts. Brooke squints up at Chloe, who just pouts back down at her.

“I went shopping and I bought a bunch of stuff,” Chloe says, reaching into her many, many bags. “I got some Korean face masks and stuff, and those lip balms you really like, and a couple of new palettes we haven’t tried yet. Also, I got you a new sweater and some shirts to go with it, you saw those, and um, oh! Here, here’s the bath bomb, and I got a new bathing suit. Also Olive Garden. And some nail polish, but that’s from CVS cause they have the best stuff anyway, the kind that dries quick cause I’m impatient, y’know? And I thought we could have a spa night?” Chloe recovers from her word vomit and waits. For Brooke to invite her in, probably. 

“My dad’s home tonight.”

“Okay, so we’ll be quiet. He’s probably working downstairs, right?” Chloe makes the face Brooke can’t say no to, so she steps back and lets her in. Chloe drops a sample bottle of lotion in her hand while she passes.

“And here, I thought this would smell good on you so I swiped it from Bath and Body Works.” Brooke makes a face. “Oh my god, relax, Brookie, I _paid_ for it, duh.”

Brooke shuts and locks the door and follows Chloe into her room, sniffing at the lotion. She can’t remember well the last time she smelled like roses.

\---

**_London, England. 1898._ **

Brooke found Chloe dancing with a man she didn’t recognize but looked much older than them and also couldn’t take his eyes off of Chloe’s chest, and the dress she was wearing wasn’t _that_ scandalous. Brooke tapped her elbow gently with a stain-gloved finger.

“Hello, darling. Have you met Alexander Prince yet?” To anyone else, Chloe would sound exhilarated by his presence. Brooke knew she was actually astonishingly bored. “He’s positively charming.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Alexander Prince kissed Brooke’s knuckles, as was custom, and his eyes were so goddamn pervy that she had to hold back a shudder. Chloe slipped her hand defiantly into Brooke’s. “Would your friend like a dance?” Alexander asked, eyeing them.

Brooke opened her mouth to answer, but Chloe did it for her. “Not at the moment, I can’t imagine. Her and I have urgent business to discuss about a potential suitor.” Chloe’s eyes gleamed with a thousand layers of plots and schemes, and she whisked Brooke away to the hall outside the main ballroom. 

“Do you fancy him?” Brooke asked. Chloe coughed surreptitiously to hide her laugh.

“Absolutely not. You know there’s only one person here I have my eyes on.” Chloe tugged on Brooke’s hand, pulling her closer. Their skirts were in the way, but it didn’t quite impede Chloe from Brooke’s lips the way she might have expected.

It was another party for another something or other that Brooke forgot about that Chloe’s parents were throwing, and as always Brooke had shown up in a dress Chloe had picked out herself and danced with men she didn’t care about until they found some moment and place to sneak away. Right now, it was Chloe’s father’s library, where hopefully no one else would be entering tonight. Hopefully. But they’d grown past the point of caring.

It had been years of this, dancing around each other (literally) at parties and finding stolen moments where they weren’t going to be criminalized as sinners, dangerous to society. Chloe seemed to be getting more and more desperate; every chance she had to close the distance between her and Brooke, she did. If Brooke was being honest with herself, she was desperate too.

“I love you,” Chloe pulled away to murmur. Brooke had heard it a thousand times, muttered into every inch of her skin, but it still made her grin like a child given candy. “I love you so dearly I don’t know how to compose myself about it.”

“You really _are_ so formal sometimes,” Brooke rolled her eyes. Chloe’s smile was almost immediately swallowed by her lips.

“It’s the finishing school education,” Chloe pulled away again to say. One hand snaked around Brooke’s back while the other clasped at her shoulder. The sleeve of Brooke’s dress pulled away from her skin just a little, and Chloe slipped her fingers underneath. They were still gloved. Brooke wished they weren’t. “How long do you think we have?”

“As long as Alexander Prince thinks we’ll be discussing a potential suitor.” Brooke shrugged. Instead of leaning back into Chloe’s lips, she buried her face in her neck and smelled her perfume. Roses. She sighed at the familiarity of it all. “I wish we didn’t have to lie like this.”

“Every time you say that, it makes me angrier.” Chloe’s fingers against Brooke’s skin felt suddenly like the pricks of a needle or a pin. “Heavens, it makes me angry. Nothing should be like this. It shouldn’t…” Chloe trailed off. Brooke noticed her jaw was clenched and she was biting her lip. Her careful makeup would be ruined, for more reasons than just the one. “You know I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“But this is ridiculous. It’s always been ridiculous, and the stories we keep telling are ridiculous.”

“They are.” Brooke thought back to a thousand other lives where they’d done this. She knew what Chloe meant and she knew what she was hearing and they weren’t exactly the same but they were close.

Chloe pulled Brooke’s head away from her neck. She stared deep into her eyes. “I want to start a revolution,” she whispered. “I want to start it with you.”

Brooke nodded and kissed her again, as quiet as they could be. That was the revolution they would start with.

\---

Chloe lays backwards on her bed with her feet up against the wall on her pillows and her head hanging off the back, hair splayed out and soft-looking, she’s just _that_ tall that she’s the whole length of the bed. Brooke is cross-legged in Chloe’s desk chair, a book on Ukrainian politics in her lap. Chloe’s playing a game on her phone and losing.

“What are you reading?” She asks through a groan when she actually does lose. Brooke holds up the cover and Chloe squints at it. “That sounds fun.”

“It’s interesting,” Brooke says and turns the page. Chloe rolls back over so she’s facing Brooke head on and makes a pouty face at her.

“Let’s go do something. I’m so bored. It’s Sunday, there has to be _something_ going on.”

Brooke looks up at her. “You wanna go to Pinkberry?”

“Nah.” Chloe scoffs. “We go there _all the time._ I wanna do something fun. I wanna start a revolution.”

Brooke’s heart rate picks up. She squints. She sees candlelight, lavender dresses and pearls and swirly-soft hair and stained lips. She sees a fan, Chloe’s elegant smile, dark corners and maps and planning for things.

“Um, we could make posters and put them up around the school declaring war on the faculty unless they acknowledge the systemic inequality for women, people of color and queer youth in our country.”

“Tempting but time-consuming.” Chloe sticks out her tongue. “Let’s go to Pinkberry instead.”

“I just said that.” Brooke pouts. Chloe rolls her eyes.

“Well, you were right. C’mon, you’re driving.” 

Brooke puts her book down and follows Chloe out of the room, and she’s smiling the secret smile. “Chlo?”

Chloe turns around, one arm through her jacket sleeve and her phone in her mouth. She makes a “hmmngh?” noise and raises an eyebrow. She looks ungraceful and messy and Brooke’s been in love with her for centuries. She opens her mouth and wants to let it spill out. But it’s not time yet. She doesn’t know when it will be. But not yet.

Or maybe she’s just scared.

“Nah, nothing. Are you gonna get strawberry again this time?”

“Probably. I don’t know yet, I’ll think about it.” Chloe grabs Brooke’s hand and the past feels not so important right now.

\---

**_Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan. 1928 AD._**

Brooke waited on the couch. She wasn’t doing anything in particular. Outside the window, there were two young people on the fire escape on the opposite street, sharing a cigarette. Brooke was sharing a cigarette with herself. She stretched out her toes, scraping the pillow at the end of the couch with them. It was cool to the touch. She blamed the open window. 

Chloe swept out of the bedroom and swiftly shut the curtains, cutting off Brooke’s view of the young couple. Brooke knew why. It was the way Chloe was dressed as much as it was the pistol she was wiping with a mostly-clean rag. Brooke offers the cigarette and Chloe traps it between her teeth for a few moments. When she hands it back to Brooke, ash dangling off the end, it’s marked up with her red lipstick. 

They live in Chloe’s family’s old apartment. Irish immigrants; Chloe is third generation. (Her name had been O’Sullivan, so she changed it to Valentine. The first time that name showed up, and Brooke’s loved it every time since.) Brooke moved in less than six months ago. This is one of the shorter ones. 

They met when Chloe walked into the department store where Brooke worked selling perfume and, over a conversation and an extravagant purchase, ended up inviting her over for a cup of tea and a little more than tea. It was a week later Brooke found out Chloe got her money from running one of the borough’s most complicated and well-connected bootlegging rings. She just thought it made Chloe all the more fun. 

“Where’s the pickup tonight?” Brooke pulled herself into a sitting position and adjusted the curls of her hair, smushed from the satin pillow on the couch. Chloe looked up with a dark look. 

“The Bowery. Along the coast, a shipping warehouse. Abandoned.” Brooke had a thick accent, New York born and bred, but Chloe’s was carefully tempered. She sounded like she came from anywhere. All part of the look. 

Brooke took another drag of her cigarette. “Why the gun, then?” 

“Because McCarthy tipped me off. Three Bureau agents stationed around the property and two waiting inside. I’ll get the shipment, but not without a little blood first.” Chloe was always so cocksure about things. Sometimes it scared Brooke, when it didn’t excite her. “Don’t fret, darling. I’ll be home before three A.M., hold me to that.” Brooke would. 

Chloe slipped her pistol into the pocket inside of her jacket. During the day, while she shopped and loitered and every so often worked at the telephone company, Chloe wore long fashionable dresses and neat, clean hats. For raids, for the real work, she had perfectly tailored pinstripe suits, long coats, and men’s hats. She tucked her hair up but for the errant, perfectly placed curl. 

Striding forward, Chloe would have looked murderous. Brooke knew she was hot inside, hot to shoot something and drink liquor and distribute things under the surveillance of the law, the adrenaline rush Chloe got from breaking the rules. She leaned up when Chloe pressed forward for a kiss, hot, sweet, and a headrush. Brooke never got tired of the way Chloe’s lips made her feel. 

“I’ll be back before three,” Chloe said again, and set out of the door with a wink. Once she was gone, Brooke stood and opened the curtains and watched the sun set. 

Chloe never came home that night. It was one of the short ones, Brooke said. 

\--- 

Brooke texts Jeremy the answers to the Chem homework with an addendum: _stole these frm chlo (:_

Jeremy texts back: _you two are getting married when?_

Brooke sighs and types: _ive loved her for a long long time_

Jeremy sends back a couple of wedding ring emojis and a laughing-crying face. Brooke couldn’t agree more. 

\--- 

******_The warfront in France, outside Paris. 1940 AD._ ** ** **

“Paris has surrendered.” The _Grenadier_ standing guard outside the tent entered. Brooke nodded anxiously. Her typewriter was already running out of paper as it was, and now she would have so many more correspondences to write. The _Grenadier_ shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Have you seen him?” 

“Not yet today. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” Brooke nodded. There was no one else in the tent, and normally this meant they could speak freely. But Brooke didn’t feel comfortable, ever, without Chloe around. 

Speaking of the devil herself, Chloe entered the tent only moments later, dragging Michael behind her. Jeremy, the _Grenadier,_ almost fainted in relief. Michael’s arm was in a sling stained with blood, and he limped slightly, but he seemed alright. Brooke stood immediately. 

“You idiot! Are you alright?” Jeremy fell to his knees in front of Michael, wrapping him in as tight a hug as he was able. Michael had been in the front lines of the final siege, as a _Fahnenjunker_ in command of a small corps of men. And of course he was hurt. 

“He was playing the hero again.” Chloe said with some obvious ire in her voice. “Damned his leg well and had bullets buried in his arm. You’ll be lucky if the joint works properly again.” She slapped the back of Michael’s head with her hand, but softly. With confident strides, she came closer to Brooke behind the desk, still standing. Chloe’s dress had blood stains down the front and her three-pointed hat was slouched to the side. It had been a long night, from the looks of it. 

Brooke opened her arms, and Chloe fell into them. “I have sewn up so many wounds,” she whined, and Brooke chuckled. 

“You have, _mein Held._ ” Brooke rubbed circles in Chloe’s back lovingly. There was no one else in the tent. She had to keep reminding herself of this. “You’ve saved lives, you know.” 

“And yet I don’t feel it was worth it.” It was a classic Chloe joke, but Brooke knew there was a layer of sadness there. They were both fighting for the wrong side. They knew it. But there was little they could do about it, now, at least. 

“I have a map,” Michael said loudly, drawing Chloe and Brooke’s attention back to the boys. He patted the pocket of his uniform, which bulged slightly. “It’s- mmm. It hurts. It’s from the _Rittmeister._ He obtained it from the French a few weeks ago. It’s useless intelligence for the army, but the lines and territories are accurate.” Michael’s proud smile got him a kiss from Jeremy and grins from Chloe and Brooke. 

“We have a way out now,” Jeremy muttered, and Chloe’s face fell. 

“I’d be careful saying that. We know nothing yet.” 

“We have a way out.” Jeremy refused to lose hope. Brooke loved that about him, but it made him stupid sometimes. Chloe seemed inclined to agree. She turned tiredly to Brooke, with soft eyes. Brooke swallowed her up in her arms, kissed at her neck. Chloe smelled like sweat and death but Brooke loved the taste of her skin anyway. 

She whispered against Chloe’s skin. “Let him have this. It’s been too long for all of us.” 

“I don’t want to have false hope.” Chloe shook her head, pulling Brooke away. “The _Fuhrer_ has France now. He’ll have Belgium soon enough, the _arschloch._ Then the others. There will be nowhere to go before long.” Michael and Jeremy were wrapped up in each other, and for this Brooke was glad. Chloe’s morbid mood could bring them all down sometimes. 

Brooke stepped away so Chloe could see her eyes. “Listen to me. We’re getting out of here. We will not fight for that evil pig, we’ll run away and… buy a farm in the French countryside. We’ll be farmers. He will lose, because he is horrible and the horrible people always lose. We will win, and we will be farmers. We’ll get out.” She tugged on Chloe’s hands, pulling her close. “We’ll leave tomorrow.” 

Before she could distract Chloe with kissing, she shook her head. 

“It’s too soon.” 

Brooke sighed and kept Chloe close, their lips centimeters from each other. “We wait any longer and we lose ourselves.” And Chloe nodded, because she knew Brooke was right. She was a lot. 

\--- 

Chloe plops a cup of Watermelon Lime Pinkberry on the table in front of Brooke and boops her nose with a spoon. “Milady, your froyo.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Brooke giggles and tips a fake hat. Before she takes a bite of her own yogurt, she scoops a little bit of Chloe’s vanilla latte with chocolate sprinkles and licks the spoon clean. Chloe rolls her eyes but lets her. “How was your day?” Brooke asks with a mouthful of yogurt. 

Chloe stabs at her yogurt like it hurt her. “Madeleine called me a bitch.” 

“She’s a bitch.” 

“I _know._ ” Chloe looks up at Brooke through her eyelashes. The quirk of her mouth and the raise of her eyebrow make her face look suggestive, but the gentle curve of her eyes and the foggy light behind them has been familiar to Brooke for ages upon ages. “Uh, she sorta called you brainless, though, so I had to say something.” 

“You defended me?” It’s not like Brooke doesn’t expect it, it’s that- yeah, she doesn’t expect that. Chloe looks out for herself. 

She checks her nails awkwardly, running one hand through her curls and tousling them to the opposite side. One falls in her eye and a strand gets caught in an errant sparkly eyelash and Brooke gets fixed on the way Chloe blinks it away without managing to look like an idiot. She clears her throat and Brooke’s eyes snap to her lips, red from Chloe’s nibbling. 

“You’re worth getting called a bitch for. I guess.” Chloe shoves a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth and doesn’t say anything else. Brooke smiles at her. 

“I heard this cool thing on Discovery the other day. About the oceans and whales and something about symbiotic relationships, dang it, I really thought I was going to remember…” Brooke starts rambling despite herself and she likes the way Chloe looks at her like she wants to remember her like this, like she _might_ remember her like this. Chloe’s eyes shine and she smiles while she eats her froyo. Brooke smiles right back and she has a feeling they’re saying more with their eyes than they are with their words right now. 

\--- 

******_Buffalo, New York. 1969._ ** ** **

Brooke lived in a van. A Volkswagen behind the fancy development Chloe lived in. She didn’t, you know, _actually_ live in the van. She spent most of her time there, though, and when she had to shower or something she went back to her parents’ house downtown and did that. Someday she’d live in the van all the way, on the road, but that day wasn’t there yet. 

It was twilight at the end of May. Brooke was eating SpaghettiOs from a can and listening to a Beatles record. (Her fascination with the Beatles started around here and carried over a few times. Brooke likes the Beatles a lot.) There was a knock on the door of the van. 

Brooke set down her SpaghettiOs and opened up. Chloe stood there. Her hair was in a ponytail. She wore a vest over a white button down and plaid pants. She had a leather suitcase with her. And she was smiling. 

“I was thinking about what you said,” Chloe started, setting the suitcase down. Her smile had morphed into something confident, sure. “About my art, and the nomad life and all that. And I think you’re right. I think it _does_ sound fun.” Chloe’s smile was a surefire grin now. Brooke stepped to the side so Chloe could enter the van, dragging her suitcase behind her. 

“What about your quarterback boyfriend and your two kids and your suburban house?” Brooke questioned. Chloe shrugged. 

“I want you more.” Definitely a grin. Brooke didn’t back away as Chloe came closer, sliding an arm around her waist and kissing her defiantly. For someone who had probably never kissed a girl before, Chloe sure knew how to make one feel special. 

“That’s a line of reasoning,” Brooke said breathless when Chloe finally pulled away. She chuckled. 

“Oh, I know.” With a _plop,_ she sat down on Brooke’s small couch. “Where should I put my stuff?” 

Brooke frowned. “Wait, you’re really coming? School doesn’t end for another two weeks. I wasn’t going to leave until July.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I _know._ I just wanted to get a head start. That way, when I take off in your van after graduation, I won’t have left anything behind and I won’t have to talk to my parents ever again.” She shuddered, like the prospect was horrifying. Brooke shrugged. 

“There’s drawers and stuff under the driver’s seat. Go ahead.” Chloe kneeled down and started filling up space with her clothes and art supplies. Something about seeing her stuff right next to Brooke’s felt right in a weird sort of way. Brooke sat down and went to finish her SpaghettiOs. 

“I love the Beatles,” Chloe said as she stood back up. Brooke nodded. 

“There’s more where that came from.” Chloe sat down on the edge of the still-open door, her feet dangling out of the van. She stared out at the empty night. 

“I think I’m ready for a thousand adventures with you,” she said. With a quirk of her head, her eyes met Brooke’s. “Finally.” Brooke smiled. 

\--- 

“Brooke?” Chloe rolls over, shifting the mattress. It’s early, early morning, like five. Brooke’s sleeping over. On nights when Brooke sleeps over, they either stay up way too late or wake up way too early. Today it’s the last one. Brooke rolls over too and looks in Chloe’s eyes, green and a little scared. “I, uh- I have something important to tell you.” 

Brooke isn’t scared like Chloe is because she’s done this a million times before. She knows what Chloe’s going to say. She’s excited, because she loves Chloe more than anything and god, she’s been waiting for this for ages. “Hmm?” 

“I’m a little bit in love with you, I think.” Chloe scrunches up her nose. “I’m not totally sure, but I’m pretty- I mean, yeah. I love you. Um, you’re really pretty and you make me laugh and smile and shit and, uh, I think I wanna kiss you sometimes. So, would that be okay?” 

“To kiss me?” Brooke clarifies. Chloe’s smile has started to waver. 

“Yup.” Brooke gives her answer in the form of scooching forward, cupping Chloe’s face in her hands, and kissing her. Chloe sighs into it, moves her lips, slides a warm arm around Brooke under the covers. Chloe’s lips taste like everything they’ve always tasted like. This isn’t a revolution but it’s still sparking fireworks in Brooke’s belly. She pulls away for air but Chloe doesn’t let her, she just attacks her neck instead. 

“Damn, you’re a really good kisser.” Brooke wants to say _look who’s talking_ but she doesn’t. She just slings a leg around Chloe’s waist. For her, the affection feels natural. Chloe hits a sensitive spot behind her ear, and Brooke jerks a little. 

“I have something important to tell you, too.” 

Chloe pulls away and looks her dead in the eye. She nibbles her lip, red and swollen. Her right hand strokes up and down Brooke’s arm while the left plays with the hem of her shirt. “What’s up?” 

“In each of our past lives, we’ve fallen in love with each other. And I remember all of them.” For Brooke, it’s best just to get it out there. No pretense. Chloe blinks. She licks her lips. She cocks her head. She notices Brooke is completely serious. 

“Okay. Um, all of them?” Brooke nods. “Do we always live in New Jersey?” 

“Heck no.” Brooke shakes her head, her hair falling all over the place. “We’ve lived a lot of places and done a lot of things.” 

“Will you tell me some of the stories?” Chloe sounds hesitant. Brooke can’t tell if she believes her all the way, or if she’s just humoring her, but either way, Chloe’s still close and Brooke hasn’t been kicked out of the bed yet. “I think I’d like to hear about it sometime.” 

“Of course, duh,” Brooke says. Chloe smiles, and just like that they’re back to kissing. Until the sun is higher in the sky, until Chloe pulls away and stares at Brooke intensely. 

“Wait. Did you know I was in love with you before I said that?” Brooke doesn’t need to nod, just bite her lip. Chloe groans. “God fucking- I thought I was being so smooth!” 

“You were incredibly smooth,” Brooke reassures her, and distracts her with more kissing. 

\--- 

A thousand Brookes. A thousand Chloes. A thousand stories. A thousand more lifetimes. 

Maybe there will be flying cars in one of them! A girl can only hope, you know. 

**Author's Note:**

> translations! in case anyone was wondering:
> 
> from greek: _i kardiá mou_ means my heart and _chlamýs_ is a type of ancient greek cloak. _ecclesia_ is an assembly of greek citizens in a city-state (not a church like in latin). from italian: _il mio fiore_ means my flower and _merda_ is shit. from french: _ma petite viande_ means my little meat, and yes, that is a weird nickname. blame chloe. 
> 
> most of the german is terms for the army: _grenadier_ is an infantryman, _fahnenjunker_ is slightly higher than that, on track to be an officer, and _rittmeister_ is captain. _mein held_ means my hero and _arschloch_ means asshole (thank you the book thief).
> 
> many thanks to google translate and wikipedia for all of these lovely words.
> 
> come yell at me @amessofgaywords on twitter.


End file.
